Love and Logic in Paris
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Grissom in Paris, Sara in Paris and Vegas, all fluff, season 11, but we provide the details! Rating will change in a few chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_These characters belong to CSI/CBS, not us. We're having fun. Here's our response to season 11 ending the way it did! And it's all about Grissom and Sara! Enjoy!_

**Love and Logic in Paris**

Paris…in the center of the desk, directly under a light fixture that reminded Gil Grissom of colorful lollipops from his childhood, was a gray cat—kitten, specifically. Its head never moved when Grissom picked up a thick book but the fur along its back twitched from neck to tail.

The desk was in a small apartment, in a building like so many others in Paris, more white than tan, unremarkable, without embellishment, but distinguished by its surrounding neighborhood. Grissom moved to the window—across the street was a church, the steps worn down from centuries of comings and goings. To the right of the church was a block of shops and cafés; a bicycle shop, a bakery or _boulangerie_, a clothing store, a shoe store, a tiny grocery. To the left of the church was a hotel, where a few decades past, poor artists and writers and persons in need of a cheap bed had slept, but today the place was romanticized by calling rooms "studio suites". Leaning against the window frame, he drank his coffee as he remembered Sara's comment on her last visit:

"We are closer to heaven than the priests," she said with a mischievous grin as she stood at the floor to ceiling length window and watched a brown-clad man sweep the steps.

His eyes moved upward; that day had been a beautiful, clear blue sky day—spring time in Paris. Today, thin altostratus clouds appeared to reflect his mood. Ash from an Icelandic volcano had snarled air traffic all over Europe and his plans of seeing his wife had disappeared under these gray skies. Sara—Sara—the only woman he would ever love—was stuck in Atlanta and had decided to return to Vegas instead of flying to Paris. Not for the first time, he thought about how they had arrived at this state of affairs.

His mind transported him back to the lush green of a tropical rainforest—more swampy Everglades kind of wetlands than what one usually considered as rainforest—and the weeks spent living and learning a new way of life. Standing in the Paris apartment, he grinned at his thoughts. Those weeks had been a dream come true. And when a French researcher offered the temporary teaching position, Sara agreed that Grissom had to accept.

Sara and he had arrived in Paris just as thousands of other visitors—wide eyed, open mouthed, seeing the city as lovers, exhausting themselves with museums and historical places and churches and gardens, and eating their way across Paris. Something about being in Paris, with its planned boulevards and hidden medieval streets, sidewalk cafés, pastry shops and bakeries, clung to one's skin and nestled into one's nose. That meant eating: _soupe fraiche a l'avocate et a la tomato, fonds d/artichaut, asperges, soufflé au Roquefort,_ (avocado and tomato soup, stuffed artichokes, asparagus, blue cheese soufflé) and croissants, baguettes, brioches, fruits, and chocolate; and that was just the vegetarian foods.

The cuisine was glorious and the fact that Parisians dined out so often and it was so convenient pushed Grissom to seldom use the tiny kitchen in the very small apartment. He turned from the window. The apartment was not much larger than the average Hilton hotel room, but it was provided fully furnished by the university at a very low rental cost, and its location was almost perfect. A three block walk in one direction got him to the classroom building, his cubicle office, and the lab where he was spending hours working with Costa Rican ants, bacteria, and fungi. Less than two blocks in the other direction and he was at a major train station.

He and his wife had spent hours walking the streets of Paris taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. They had traveled by train to the coast, to Versailles, to Giverny—he thought Sara was going to sprout roots and remain in the garden, and to the Chateau of Chambord. He sat in his chair, propped his feet on a stool and sipped his coffee.

Chambord—not the chateau, but the bed and breakfast they had found by accident in the small village. Their room, at the top of three flights of stairs, was tucked between rafters, the floor sloped to the outer wall, the whitewash on the walls appeared to be two inches deep, and both knew the mattress was a hundred years old when Sara nearly disappeared as it folded around her body. They had laughed themselves into breathlessness and then in one of those moments remembered for months, they were making love.

Sara's silky sleep shirt was lost in the fluffy duvet; her tanned and freckled arms a stark contrast to her smooth pink breasts. His hands passed over her like the proprietors cleaning the ancient streets and windows outside their shops and homes. His fingers had curled and dipped and found what his body wanted.

Grissom managed to lift her, centered her on his erection, then lowered her slowly. When he was fully inside, or she covered him completely—it was a question they frequently snickered over—she emitted a quiet sound, a gasp or weak cry, and came almost immediately. As she had learned, they fell into a rhythm until the ceiling of the room wobbled before his eyes, the earth seemed to sway before it exploded and they held on to each other until the final spasm had subsided, and Sara looked at him with a wide smile on her face.

Her hands cradled his face as she whispered, "Did you bring me to this place to induce a mind-blowing orgasm?"

"No, this was a bonus," he chuckled

From the apartment window, he looked at the sky again—still ash gray—and chuckled at his thoughts. He could love her twenty hours a day, he thought; except he couldn't do that and prepare lectures and make presentations in front of the most brilliant young scientific minds at the Sorbonne.

After ninety days, Sara had to officially leave France, so they crossed the border to the mountains of Italy, spent a day in Milan, and continued to Lake Como where they found a small town away from the mansions of Bellagio. In their hotel, tucked on a hillside, accessible from the street by elevator, they felt as if they were floating in clouds above the lake. The owner provided an afternoon platter of olives, soft cheese, local fruits, and breads and, after eating, the two travelers stretched across the bed and slept. For three days, they explored the lakeside town with its steep, narrow streets and more motorcycles than cars, the cafés serving local foods, pizza, and crepes. They took a ferry across the lake to the fairy-tale city of Bellagio, wandering its streets filled with serious shoppers, and Sara sent four postcards to certain friends in Vegas—laughing at her attempt to buy stamps in an Italian post office.

They loved each other as they walked hand-in-hand or ate at small tables, and they made love in the white covered bed on the top floor of their hotel, opening balcony doors to a small private terrace and the sky. On the middle day, they remained at the hotel after waking entwined in arms and legs and making love in a burst of passion that lasted ten minutes. They laughed together, surprised at the pleasure found with each other and the opportunity to do nothing all day. In the shower they soaped each other, cleansed and perfumed and returned to bed where they cuddled, kissed, and loved until hunger drove them downstairs to the dining room. After lunch, they returned to their bed which now had clean sheets and pillowcases. While caressing each other, they fell asleep, and woke in the late afternoon, finding laughter again as they repeated their earlier lovemaking. They showered again, together, and Sara wrapped a large towel around her body, walked to the terrace and proceeded to unwrap herself in the afternoon sun. She lay naked for an hour, giggled when he joined her wearing his boxers and socks, and finally dressed for dinner when a rumbling sound emanated from her belly.

Grissom knew the days they were together were the best ones they had ever lived; without doubt, both knew they had made the right decisions—primarily, getting married wiped away any uncertainties of their future whatever came their way. Grissom had successfully closed his career in law enforcement but, at times, he recognized a certain restlessness in Sara. Alone most of the day, he knew there were only so many times she could meander through the city parks or stroll along shopping streets, and keeping their apartment spotlessly clean took her fifteen minutes every morning. Her request for a French work visa was at the bottom of a very large stack.

Late one rainy afternoon, as he returned from the university, he saw Sara with Hank walking toward him. She wore knee high rain boots in a bright orange and a black hat with a wide brim, rain dripping from its edges. Under her arm was a package—a box without a top, he quickly learned, and inside was a ball of fur.

"The lady at the grocery had one left—I agreed to take her on a trial basis!" She lifted the kitten to her face. "Hank loves her already!"

Grissom knew one never took a kitten on a trial basis and, like Hank, he sighed and fell in love with the funny little fur ball by the time they had eaten dinner.

"What do we name her?" He asked from his prone position on the bed—a bed that was getting smaller by the day with the addition of a second pet.

Sara had tied a string to a foot long twig and had fastened a small soft ball to the string for the kitten to bat around. As the little cat jumped and pawed, Sara giggled.

"I have a name picked out," she snorted as she waved the stick in front of the kitten.

Grissom looked puzzled at her sudden amusement with naming a cat.

"We have Hank—so this is," she cast a side glance at him, picked up the kitten, and burst into laughter. "This is Heather!" She bent double laughing, straightened up and held the stick out. "And this is her whip!"

_A/N: Let us know if you enjoyed the first chapter! Next chapter in 3-4 days (got some work to do along the coast)..._


	2. Chapter 2

Love and Logic: Chapter 2

Paris…twilight and a few flat clouds folded themselves like crepes over a golden sky. The smells of cooking simmered and floated from doorways, shuttered windows, and balconies as a breeze moved weary leaves on trees. If Grissom had taken time to look, he would have noticed a few bees tickling the blooms of the flower stalls as he made a quick purchase next door at the pet shop. Chimes from the church counted the time—an hour past the one he had thought it was. He shifted two wrapped bundles as he paid for the kitten food and continued his fast-paced walk. Everywhere, everything seemed enveloped in softness; soft as baby powder, soft as fingerprint dust from another life, he thought.

By the time his key touched the lock, nightfall was almost complete and before he opened the heavy wooden door, he heard the unmistakable scuffing scratch of the kitten running to greet him. Heather, the kitten, had certainly kept him entertained; Hank had gone from amusement to hesitation to resignation and tolerance. Grissom stooped to lift the kitten in his hand and closed the door with his foot.

The absence of the large dog caused Grissom to step past the small kitchen to check the bed—in an apartment with no place to hide, Hank's favorite place was the bed which is where Grissom's eyes found him. His three packages tumbled onto the table as he realized the dog was not alone in the unmade bed. A human foot at one end and a dark head of hair at the other was enough to announce a surprise arrival.

It normally took ten steps to reach the bed, but tonight, Grissom made it in three, stopping short before jumping into the bed. Sara was in a deep sleep, and from what Grissom could see, she was wearing a white tee shirt that belonged to him. He smiled. The last time they talked—last night—she was flying back to Vegas, and now she was here and sleeping in their rented bed.

He softly whistled for Hank, fed both animals, and poured a glass of wine. The apartment had two comfortable chairs, well-worn by previous inhabitants, and the kitten claimed one in Sara's absence while he got the one nearest the windows. He turned the chair so he could see the bed and drank the wine. He had worked much longer than usual thinking Sara was sleeping in Las Vegas all the while she was flying and somehow had gotten to Paris in spite of the massive cloud of ash.

Chuckling softly, he shook his head. He should have known an old volcano in Iceland was no match for her. His quiet laughter brought Hank to his side.

"Can you wait for your walk?" He asked as he stroked the dog's ears. Hank loved their late night excursions where he taste tested every water bowl left by the doors of shops and cafés. Unlike the cat, the dog seemed to understand his words and curled at his feet.

Another swallow of wine and he relaxed, his work of the day forgotten and in its place came the quiet knowledge of sharing the nights and days ahead with Sara. She would be ready to walk for hours for the first three days before she settled into a predictable pattern for the rest of her visit. Grissom smiled, taking pleasure in the picture his mind created as they traveled her favorite route—the medieval streets, two favorite parks, a famous boulevard, cross the river twice using different bridges, around Notre Dame cathedral, before returning to the apartment. After the weekend, he would be working—his lecture meant concentration, but he would daydream while working in the lab. He chuckled again. She could distract him more than anyone or anything ever had. He remembered the first time he'd seen her, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, her eyes bright and unwearied, undaunted as she asked her questions.

"Gil!" The surprise in Sara's voice penetrated his awareness—he wasn't asleep but day-dreaming, he thought. She was sliding to the edge of the bed; her body seemed a shadow against the white shirt, her broad smile spread across her face. Long legs and bare feet were walking in his direction.

His arm went outward, his mouth lifted at its corners. "You are here—I was afraid you were an aberration of my exhausted brain." Her hand touched his and he drew her to his chair where she seemed to fit with ease; her hands slipped around his neck. He leaned forward letting his mouth hover at her lips. "I thought you were returning to Vegas." His mouth closed on hers.

Sara's hands moved into his hair, pulling them together, as his arms wrapped around her. The two stayed in the chair for some time, repeating words of greeting and yearning between smiles and kisses. Hank was the instrument that caused them to move.

"I need to take Hank out," Grissom explained as the dog practically danced between their chair and the door. "I put him off while you were sleeping." The rising heat in his pants made him regret his decision.

She kissed him lightly on his forehead and got up, saying, "I'll go with you—we can talk."

Grissom watched as she searched for jeans, bent to pull them on, straightened up and turned to face him. "What?" She asked an edge of laughter in her voice.

"I can't believe you are here."

She pulled a shirt over her head. "I got here six hours ago—a very long trip."

In the process of changing her flight to return to Vegas, a random seat had opened on a flight to Barcelona. From there, Sara had taken a train to Montpellier and Paris. "So many people were trying to go anywhere but Europe," she explained as they walked Hank. "I had no checked luggage so that made it easier. I got Greg to reserve the train ticket—which was packed—not an empty seat! I fell asleep and woke to find a little girl asleep on my leg, an old man's head on my shoulder but everyone was polite, almost a party atmosphere." They waited while Hank circled and smelled before raising a leg.

Grissom had kept one arm around her as they walked. If anything this city and the people in it had opened an affectionate chink in their awareness. Couples walked holding hands; people kissed whenever they met, and Grissom and Sara found it easy to emulate this same easy warmth.

They walked along dark streets, not in isolation, but segregated by choice and custom. Dozens of other couples walked the same way, unaware of each other, each on their own path. Even the dogs moved in the same way—the place to play was different from the place to walk.

The sojourn to Paris had been an unexpected one—a suggestion in Costa Rica turned into reality as Grissom came at the request of one researcher who happened to be a member of one of the top five bio-fuel laboratories in the world. Grissom came to lecture for three months but as he packed to leave, he was asked to stay another three months.

"I never meant to stay here this long," he said as they crossed one of the old bridges.

"You love it," Sara whispered. They stopped and watched a long barge glide underneath the bridge.

"I love you and you are in Vegas."

She giggled, "Not tonight, not for two weeks." She dropped her head as she laughed. "Who would have guessed I would be the one returning first?"

Grissom's arm slipped around her waist; Hank settled at their feet, knowing the tone of their voices and the shuffle of their feet meant he could rest against the cool stones for a while.

He talked about his work—returning to the scientist he had been years ago. The laboratory was a scientist's dream—the newest equipment, rapid and precise, with which to analyze and test every substance surrounding the life of leaf-cutter ants. He loved it. And Sara loved him.

"How's the lab? How is everyone? Is Greg better?" Grissom asked as they watched a late night party, the boat festooned with twinkling lights, slowly slide along the river.

Their walk and conversation had followed its familiar pattern. First the welcome back—sometimes it took hours before they moved on to the rest of life.

"He's good, better. We often eat together. He's working on his history of Las Vegas—loves doing that. Catherine is settling in as supervisor—depending on Nick more and more. Langston is doing his thing—very nice to work with, knows his stuff, and loves learning." She smiled as she talked. "I think everyone is puzzled about my return."

Grissom's arm moved up to her shoulder. She continued, "I've found peace. Years of turmoil rubbed me raw, but I've healed—by the tranquility of Costa Rica." She laughed softly. "By you—the calm you brought to my life, the hours of the day of being with you, knowing you love me, warts and all, smoothed my frayed edges and put me in a serene place—no matter where I am."

His hand moved to her hair and he kissed her. He knew they had taken long, torturous paths to arrive at this place. Sara had awakened him from stagnation. His work in Las Vegas had become a rut, a tranquil, educational rut that had done little harm and much good to him, but a rut just the same. It had taken several shocks to his system to get him to move, but finally he did so.

Their kiss deepened; and if the urban folk tale was true—that when a man is anticipating sexual activity, his whiskers grow at an accelerated rate—Grissom would trip over his long beard before they reached the apartment. Much to Hank's dismay, they were almost running by the time they reached the familiar street.

Pale moonlight seeped over the eaves and reflected in the puddles of newly washed surfaces of closed stores. The air was moist, not fresh but scented with the mystery smell of flowers and food and water. It was aphrodisiac, soft, secretive—occasionally scented by fumes of late night delivery trucks that did nothing to decrease the allure of what waited behind the heavy closed door of the Paris apartment.

_A/N: Thanks, reviews appreciated-and spur us into action to post the next chapter-which will bump the rating to "M"! _


	3. Chapter 3

Love and Logic in Paris Chapter 3

Paris…midnight, or just after and the temperature had dropped to a comfortable number for those sleeping under downy comforters in bedrooms where a window had been pushed open to catch a cool breeze. Sounds had all but evaporated in the neighborhood of the Grissom apartment; an occasional rumble of a truck or a cry of a baby drifted into open windows. Grissom thought they could be castaways marooned on an exotic island, but that was much later when his mind went in another direction.

Their shoes were removed at the door; the kitten raised a head from her bed in a chair, yawned, and tucked her face back into the curl she made. Hank was satisfied with a treat and flopped on his bed under the table. Grissom gently pressed his fingertips against Sara's back. She turned.

"I need a fast shower."

Sara smiled as in her turn, his arm had naturally wrapped around her and they stood facing each other. Her hand spread across his chest, found the buttons of his shirt and began to unfasten each one. "Hurry," she whispered. "I'll bring a glass of wine and you can tell me all about your ants."

Not only wine, but Sara found cheese, pickles, butter, a pear, and a few small carrots in the refrigerator, and fresh bread on the table—one of the bundles he had dropped when he saw her sleeping. She lifted the second brown paper wrapped package and sniffed—ham. She smiled, shaking her head as she placed it in the refrigerator. She carried two filled glasses, the pear and a chunk of cheese to the bed and placed all of it on a convenient narrow shelf above the bed. A small box of chocolates sat where she had left them during her last visit.

The noise from the bathroom had changed from one of running water to the humming and bumping of someone in a hurry. Sara cracked the door and passed one glass into the steamy air. Two people could fit into the space—two people who did not mind standing wrapped around each other in the two square feet dedicated to height space. Otherwise, with the sloping ceiling, one bent to get into the tub and sat on a small bench to shower. Of course, they had been in the tub together, moved the bench into the bedroom, filled the tub with hot water and bath salts, and sat until the water went cool. Sara giggled—they had not actually sat the entire time, but they had moved together, facing each other and nearly drowned in the process of making love.

"What are you laughing about?"

"Loving you!" She snorted as she nodded in the direction of the tub. A flash of alarm passed across his face and she shook her face. "Not tonight," she assured him.

"I still have back pain from that day," he grumbled. Drops of water beaded around his neck and shoulders as he shook his head. With her free hand, Sara touched his wet hair and combed her fingers through it. As he wrapped a towel around his waist, she leaned forward and kissed his temple. He took the wine glass, saying, "You are overdressed, Mrs. Grissom," his voice husky with sensuality.

Sara met his gaze, saw the rising heat in his blue eyes, and suddenly felt oddly breathless. Excitement exploded from the well-controlled compartment where their passion had been shoved while they walked with Hank. Her knees felt weak as warmth pooled in her lower body.

Grissom raised his arms and reached around and behind her, imprisoning her in his embrace. She breathed in his unique scent and her head began to spin. She dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue as his wine flavored lips met hers. When neither could breathe, Sara flattened her palms on his chest, tried to breathe normally, and placed her lips against his neck. She heard a low, hungry groan deep in his chest and recognized the effect she had on him. Her hands encircled his neck. He reacted immediately, crowding against her until she was pressed tightly between his aroused body and his hands on her backside. He nudged his mouth to hers and kissed her, deepening it as she parted her lips and pushed fingers through his hair.

The wine glass was left in the bathroom as he began to push her shirt upward until his palm closed over her left breast. As his thumb gently circled her nipple, she heard herself make a soft cry. Her response was to move her hand lower, across his bare flesh until she found the towel at his waist. But before she could remove it, he pushed his knee against her leg and moved them to the bed. His fist seized the fabric of her shirt and crumpled it in one hand before pulling it over her head. As the shirt left his hand, the towel fell from his hips.

In front of Sara's face, because he had risen to his knees to pull her shirt over her head, was a fully aroused penis. She took it in her hands, gently, tenderly stroking his erection with her fingertips. When she leaned to touch him with her tongue, she felt him suck in his breath.

"Not now, honey," he rasped. He tugged her up to face him, caressing her face. "I've missed you every minute of every day," he whispered. His fingers moved along her soft shoulder, traced down her arm and laced his with hers. He kissed her hand as they tumbled onto the sheets; he could see the swell of her breasts and the peaks of her nipples in the dim light. He kissed her, exploring her skin with his mouth as he moved from her neck to her shoulder and the valley between her breasts.

Slowly, intentionally, he kissed a trail from her breasts to her belly, ending at the band of her panties. His tongue played between fabric and flesh; he tugged the band with his teeth, mumbling words as he did so.

Sara stretched on the bed with arms flung out. She giggled as Grissom grasped her panties in his mouth and pulled them down her legs taking what seemed to be a very long time to do so, and taking even longer as he kissed and tasted her ankle, her calf, her thigh. He moved to the dark triangle between her legs finding her damp with desire. He inhaled the delicate feminine scent of sea and spices to rare to have a name. He would know this fragrance the rest of his life, he thought. He found the small swollen bud, the center of her sex, and began to work it with his fingers.

"Get up here, Gil!"

One hand caressed her butt while he used the other to slide a finger inside her, probing gently.

"Gil!" It was an order. Her hips clenched and twisted as he propelled himself forward, covering her body and fitting his hot erection between her legs. "Now!" She gasped.

He entered her, driving his throbbing penis inside her, smoothly, completely, as she gave over to the building passion, grasping his back, her fingers pressed into his skin as she buried her mouth against his neck. Her orgasm came in waves, muscles tightening around him. He tried to control his own driving passion but the sensation of her climax brought the pleasurable waves of ecstasy that he could not override.

One, or both, made a choked cry as their movements and emotions reached a crescendo. There was a long, low moan in Sara's ear as she softened her grip and Grissom's lips met hers in a prolonged passionate kiss while their hips remained locked—or stuck together. For all the years they had lived separately, for the many months one had left the other's bed to return to a cold lonely bed, they made up for those missed days and nights by refusing to separate for long hours after sex. Neither found the sweaty, sticky fluids that coated their bodies objectionable; they would have been hard pressed to explain why one pulled the covers over their heads before they slept intertwined so closely their two bodies appeared as one.

The last moonlight of the night winked and reflected off smooth surfaces in the apartment; Hank snored and dreamed of running after a squirrel. Kitten Heather stretched and preened herself before jumping from the chair and making a quiet circle of the room, finally deciding the bed appeared more inviting than the chair she had left.

Grissom woke in a kind of heaven, his face against a soft pink mound of flesh—top by a slightly darker cap—he smiled and puckered his lips to kiss this cap. His side was sore from sleeping on a knot, no, he thought, it was a twisted towel under his hip. He was in heaven, he decided, because it smelled exactly the way heaven ought to smell—like Sara. For a time, he lay still, suspended in a perfect time, and inhaled. He felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness, but a very light pressure on his backside forced his eyes open.

Hank—long past his usual morning stroll had waited as long as possible before placing his wet nose against the back of his favorite man.

_A/N: Thanks for reading-love to hear from you! _


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: Time to review! We want to hear from everyone reading-so just do it!_**

Love and Logic in Paris Chapter 4

Paris…bed sheets tangled around four legs, pillows bunched under two heads; a blurry brightness from uncovered windows made Grissom's eyes squint as he rubbed them with thumb and index finger. A minuscule sound came from somewhere below his hip and he spotted little Heather stretched beside his calf giving a fussy purr because she had been disturbed in sleep.

Grissom struggled to sit up, returning from heaven was not easy, he thought. Raindrops streaked the long windows and he adjusted a thin curtain to block some of the morning glare—not sun but reflections of gray on glass. Glancing down at the street, he could see a dozen umbrellas moving along the sidewalk, the raised shutters of the stores, a few pots of bright flowers, and the drizzling rain puddles on the gray steps of the church. Quickly and quietly he pulled on pants and a rain jacket, slipped feet in sandals, and headed out with Hank.

He purchased pastries for breakfast, made coffee, fed Hank and Heather, and still Sara slept giving him time to think, to ponder and consider their life. He had never in his life been the lover he was with her; he had never loved anyone as he loved her. In their private time, they were passionate yet some long developed sense of responsibility along with a recognized need for occasional solitude put them in distance places for a very long two weeks.

Most women—most people—would not have done what she did, not after the horror and trauma and disappointment she had survived. Yet it took a survivor to return, to say: "As much as I love you, I need to work—to show others I'm capable—that I've recovered." She did not say "be useful and productive" but he knew it was in her mind. Sara Sidle had never been inactive, never idle, never a shopper, and had discovered she was a limited tourist. So when Conrad Ecklie had called, first asking Grissom if he knew anyone who could come in on a moments notice, who knew how to work, Grissom did not think Conrad was actually asking for Sara's return, but on rethinking their conversation, he believed Ecklie was asking for permission to ask Sara if she would return to work. Truth told Grissom felt guilt and some responsibility that Riley had not worked out; he also wanted Catherine to succeed as supervisor. But the decision was Sara's, not his, and she had shown her tenacity by returning and remaining much longer than anyone had thought.

Of course, she had returned with her own terms. He had managed to hide his amusement as he listened to one side of the negotiations between Conrad Ecklie and Sara Sidle Grissom. What she asked for was agreed to—full benefits including retirement and health care, two weeks off after two weeks of work, and to keep "Sidle" as her working name. She had chuckled as she said "There's only one Grissom."

They had passed through Vegas on their way to Paris, met everyone, gone to a party at Catherine's home, and announced their marriage—to no one's surprise. They left more boxes stacked in their condo, picked up Hank, packed lightly for a short stay in Paris, and still dizzy with excitement, moved into this apartment as lovers in a strange land. Paradise, they believed, just as thousands of others before them.

The kitten had returned to bed, curling on Sara's belly and purring loud enough for Grissom to hear across the room. He paid attention to Hank by brushing his fur dry—he had become a good pet groomer; no one walked a scruffy looking dog in Paris. The small cat's movement caused a stir from Sara and then a soft meow from Heather as Sara rolled to her side.

"You left me."

What he saw in her eyes was precisely reflected what was in his own. From his chair, he said, "Only for a while—Hank had to go pee." He stepped into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. When he handed it to Sara, he nodded at the almost full wine glass. "Or you can have wine."

Sara grinned, scooted upright in the bed, took a sip of coffee and scooped the kitten up in one hand. "Thanks—don't you love Heather?" She nuzzled the kitten with her chin and passed the cup of coffee back to Grissom. She searched under the bed covers, playing with the kitten as she looked her shirt and panties.

Grissom watched for a few minutes before reaching for her underwear. "Here's part of what you want." He laughed as he held the white bit of cloth by its band and juggled it just out of the kitten's reach. "Heather likes to play," he laughed as Sara grabbed her panties.

He watched as she wiggled legs and pulled her underwear up. "Go without," the grin on his face silently conveyed his message.

She giggled and moved into his arms. "Feed me first—did we eat dinner? I'm starving."

Without discussion, one of many common consents that flowed between them, they spent most of the day in an old fashioned sort of way. They read, they talked, they walked to the café around the corner for lunch, played with Hank in the rain, and returned to the apartment by mid-afternoon. Their private world suited them and the rain made it easier to make no plans other than to be together.

Sara was the first to initiate what they both wanted. She unsnapped her pants and using a toe, she kicked her pants across the room—to his feet and then shrugged out of her top and posed for him. She was lovely, he thought, with smooth, taut skin colored with a touch of sun and freckles. For a minute, he looked at her, knowing without doubt she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but then he fell on her like a wolf on a lamb.

His hands were rubbing her thigh and her legs slid open and in some manner her pelvis rocked forward that allowed her feminine folds to make contact with his thumb. She was breathing so heavily that each intake of air sent a spiral of sensation down between her legs. Prolonging this activity until afternoon seemed to add urgency to their actions—her bud of intimacy felt swollen, huge, throbbing, and his erection seemed to grow and fill her palm as she closed fingers around it. It had actually been ten minutes since they tumbled into bed when she received him, hearing a sound like an animal's grunt as she fell against pillows. Very quickly came the soft powerful explosion of her orgasm and she lost contact with the world for moments in its sweet rush. She felt him come as the walls of her vagina squeezed at his erection, taking every last drop of his fluid.

For a time, they rested, eyes closed in after sex drowsiness, taking in the closeness; the weight of Grissom's body half covering hers, the lingering heat between her thighs where a protective or possessive hand rested, the faint fragrance of their bodies filled their noses and satisfied the smell centers of their brains. Grissom was the first to move, shifting slightly, throwing the sheet away from his legs.

"I'm going to put a water cooler beside our bed for times like these," he said with a laugh.

Sara rolled so her leg crossed his thighs, bent her knee and moved her leg higher. Her fingers played across his chest until her hand rested on his shoulder. "We could train Hank to bring water from the refrigerator." She placed a kiss on his jaw. "Can we stay here the rest of the day?"

As an answer, he kissed her, passionately, and a band of warmth began to spread from the space between her eyes to her chest and belly, and by the time it reached her thighs, it had heated to the point of affecting the rhythm of her breathing. Erotic, she thought, as she moved hands to his groin where a limp rope had lain minutes before. As they kissed and fondled, caressed, and stoked, this 'rope' began it climb into stiffness.

"I thought I had taken care of this earlier," she whispered, a provocative sound in her voice as she stroked and cradled his growing penis. Her fingers gently massaged and threaded, circled and cuddled; when she bent her head and touched him with her tongue, the muscles of his butt clenched, tightened, rippled in response.

This time, he did not stop her. His attempt at disguising or delaying his pleasure lasted twenty seconds. The grip on her shoulder would leave bruises—he let go and made a fist in the sheets. As he groaned, he knew he heard a quiet giggle. And nanoseconds before he knew he was losing the microfilament of control, she closed her hand around his balls with just enough pressure to slow his movements.

Her body wanted more. In a swift move, she was underneath him welcoming his weight on top of her. His mouth was on her ear and she heard him say, "Oh, baby," in a voice that was one only she heard. His finger was inside her, sweeping, pressing against the wetness. She wanted him to thrust inside her, move her into unconsciousness, oblivious to the world, into that sexual, pleasurable heaven, but he was more imaginative. He kept maneuvering, repositioning, sucking, kissing her until finally their bodies reached a point of no return—almost.

Grissom slowed his rhythm, "Open your eyes," he said in a voice that almost sent her into orgasmic heaven. His final plunges began as she dissolved into the rapture, the long spasm of pleasure. Only when his lids closed over his blue eyes could she close her own, knowing their connection remained in an intimate absolute way.

This time their desire, lust, relief was complete. They would make love as new lovers do, after a kiss, before parting, or at the end of a working day, but it would not be with the same surprising greed as this one. Sara felt she had been rolled over in a huge wave at the beach—out of breath, exhausted—but willing to try again to get the same exhilaration. She placed gentle kisses into his hair as his breathing returned to normal.

"I love you, Sara," he murmured, lips against her neck.

She kissed him again, on his mouth, which was a mistake because she wanted him again, his flesh and hardness inside her; she couldn't get enough of him and the force of her lust unnerved her, as it always did.

"I love you, Gil. More."

His chuckle warmed her mouth. It was a private joke; the responder always added "more".

"You okay?" He asked.

Sara stretched, but not enough to move out of his arms. "Yes, I'm fine—trying to recover from the best fuck of the year."

She felt his grin against her cheek. "Don't use that word—its love."

Her giggle reached his ears as he snuggled against that elegant space where shoulder and neck met. His eyes closed and his hand sought that area of Sara's body where breast and abdomen met—a sensual place, a private erogenous spot for her—and his thumb lightly traced a path.

"It's funny," Grissom said, "the feelings I have when you are here—nothing else matters." His quiet laugh filled her ears. "But I might not live very long if we were together all the time," a tease in his voice.

She snuggled this time, bringing her face against his, tightening her hug across his chest. "We are in a good place—a good time for us. I feel good—really good. Renewed, even at the lab." He felt her lips kiss his hair. "I always thought I was tied to the past—that I wasn't anchored in the world the way I thought other people were." She laughed. "Something inside me has shifted, stabilized, aligned—I'm not expressing this very well—but I feel free."

"Yeah, we are," he said, his thumb continued stroking her skin. She nestled even closer and sighed. Grissom knew it was a sigh of contentment and happiness. In minutes they were both sleeping.

_A/N: If you like what you are reading-leave a review! Gives us encouragement and a smile! While we love writing about GSR, we need to know you continue to enjoy it! We've gotten several messages we can not respond to because you have a "no messages" block on your name! _


	5. Chapter 5

Love and Logic Chapter 5

Paris…a Sunday, washed clean by the rain, sparkled white and colorful; the Parisian spring flared with life and everyone seemed to be outside by the time Sara, Grissom, and Hank walked to the park. The café terraces were filled with women wearing bright pinks, sunny yellows and shades of green. Aromas drifted through open doors of stylish restaurants where beef was being roasted for Sunday customers. Paris was on display and while they were no experts, Sara and Grissom had decided Paris parks were unsurpassed in the world. Early spring flowers seemed to be painted across every surface where new grass had not grown into a carpet. Trees with sweet smelling blooms and fresh leaves added to the landscape of color. After a winter of cold air, the day felt like a warm blanket.

They walked in a breezy way; the dog seemed to skip along with them holding his head high to pick up the scents and sounds of other dogs. Anyone noticing the couple would have seen a bounce in their step, amusement in their voices, the way they paused to touch each other, and in Paris, they were much like hundreds of others—in love. And anyone who knew them would have noticed a remarkable change in both; they looked younger. He stood taller, thinner, with a neatly trimmed beard and his flashing blue eyes looked at the world with curiosity. Sara's body moved with a new-found confidence; lithely and gracefully, she played with the dog then returned to take Grissom's hand, or wrap an arm around his waist. And both faces smiled.

They found an uncrowded space and spread their square of cloth—a brightly colored square Sara had purchased in a fabric store for this purpose—and unpacked the backpack. Out came Hank's water bowl; in Paris, they learned, caring for your pet was as important as any valuable part of life. Grissom trotted to a nearby drinking fountain to fill the bowl. Sara unwrapped cheese and tomatoes, bread and pears—she enjoyed food in Paris or, she thought, perhaps it was eating with Grissom. She watched as his return walk twisted around others who were enjoying the sunny day. She realized his pants were baggy—more so than usual, she thought. When their eyes met, both smiled and he quickened his steps.

"This is nice," Grissom said as he stretched out on his back. They had finished eating; Hank was sleeping next to Grissom. Sara rearranged herself and put her head on his shoulder.

"It is a beautiful day. Now I know the color of the sky is French blue."

By the time they decided to leave the park, it was still a clear day, the sun warm, and they took the long route back to their apartment. They walked along one of the main traffic arteries in the second-oldest part of Paris before turning into one of the many twisting streets that eventually brought them to the domed roof of the Pantheon. They had been inside to see the final resting place of French heroes and today they circled it once before heading down hill, past the Sorbonne, and back to their temporary home.

Grissom got to eat the ham he had purchased for dinner; Sara prepared an omelet and wrinkled her nose when he rolled slices of the ham for his plate.

"I know you eat meat every day I'm not here," she teased.

He wavered and delayed his answer. She laughed and kissed him. They ate with windows open, a dog at their feet, and a kitten sitting on the table in front of them.

Sara said, not for the first time, "I should take Heather back with me." Her fingertip scratched the kitten's chin.

Grissom shook his head. "Gives you a reason to come back!"

Once, weeks ago, they had met in New York City—halfway, Grissom said. But the trip had taken a toll on him which he would never admit. Leaving Hank in Paris had not worked out well, upsetting the dog for at least a week. Sara decided she would be the one to do the majority of travel as long as Grissom remained in Paris.

She stacked the plates to one side, took his hand and held it to her face. "I come for you, Gil—wherever you are." Her voice was soft, filled with affection.

That night they slept the deep sleep of intimates; neither having cause to stay awake or have bothersome dreams. By the time faint light filtered through the window, Sara eased herself out of bed, carefully moving the strong hands that stroked and soothed with touches and kisses. She moved as quietly as possible, making coffee and feeding Heather, but her activity woke him. Grissom stumbled out of bed, unconcerned at his nakedness, and walked to her, folded her in his arms and stood rocking gently, still half asleep, his beard scraping her neck and his growing erection against her thigh.

"Good morning," she whispered, placing kisses along his shoulder. "I'll go get breakfast, take Hank out."

"Want a shower?" He asked, sounding more awake, but making no attempt to move away from her. He rocked against her, sliding his hands to her butt.

"The shower is small," she said.

He grinned. "I know," he wiggled his hips against hers.

She needed no further encouragement—the slope of the ceiling in the small tub constrained but did not limit what they wanted to do. They soaped and explored with gentle thoroughness until both were extremely clean and Grissom was enormously hard and Sara was exceedingly wet with her own fluids.

"The bed," she whispered, and somehow they stumbled out of the shower to fall across the bed.

The fluffy gray kitten jumped from her position on the bed and scampered across the room to a chair. Hank lifted his head, dropped it in a knowing fashion. If one could have read his thoughts, he would be telling this pesky little newcomer that the bed was not safe when the two humans were around.

Without needing to say words, Sara kissed her husband with furious passion feeling she, and particularly her lower pelvis, had the physical ability to suck him completely inside her body. Grissom's intentions were to bring his wife to multiple levels of excitement and stimulation—he knew what to do to bring several orgasms—but this morning, it was all he could do to hold himself until he was fully inside her. She caught him, held him tightly in such fury he almost climaxed on his first thrust. When her hips rose to meet his, when she made a gasping cry of passion, he plunged and climbed and collapsed in fast order. All he could feel was the wonderful pleasure of being surrounded by the tightening muscles of the woman he loved…

After some time, he left her. She would occupy the day with a long walk, buying food for the several days, getting laundry done, and waiting for Grissom's work day to end.

Safety regulations prohibited Sara from entering the research lab where Grissom worked with the ants; she could attend his lectures, but early in his seminar she realized he was nervous when she sat in the back of the lecture room. Now she waited in the hallway and she could hear his voice, booming to the back of the room, excited as he explained and answered a question. He was good—she had known he was a good lecturer and the way he used illustrations and examples brought the subject to life. This was his big class—nearly one hundred students in an introductory class. In the afternoon, he met a smaller graduate seminar and worked several hours in the lab, but between the two, they met for lunch.

Their pattern had been established previously and she quickly adjusted to the routine of being a familiar tourist outside of the apartment and being a lover and wife inside their home. The separation was difficult for both, but the reunion of reliving their first days together, awakening simmering passion for each other, made it work. And they both realized the importance of what Grissom was doing was for their future—beginning a new career meant sacrifices regardless of age and degrees and wisdom; it took hard work.

After a quick lunch by Parisian standards—Sara appreciated the attention chefs gave to preparing vegetarian dishes—they parted, reluctantly.

Later, Sara smiled as she collected bundled clothes from the small laundry, stumbling with her French as she paid and thanked the proprietor. She was to the door before realizing the woman was calling her back. She turned.

"Grissom, yes?" The woman asked her.

"Yes," Sara nodded.

The woman made the universal sign for "wait" and disappeared into the back of the building. Returning, she held several folded shirts. "For your—your husband," she hesitated as she figured out the English words. Sara thanked her again and paid for the shirts, forgotten by Grissom.

The afternoon stretched into an easy, calming period; Sara walked without purpose for several hours. She was relaxed and lightened in ways she could not fully understand. If her mind worked in a mystical way, she would have realized she was saturated, filled to her brim with happiness. When Grissom opened the door of the apartment to find her sitting at the window, kitten in her lap, a book in her hand, he noticed her youthful appearance—as if she had showered in some fountain of youth. And while work had seemed to drain his strength and desire, seeing his wife renewed him as nothing else did. Not for the first time, and the scientists in him shouted otherwise, he realized this warmth began in his chest.

Sara was already smiling as he closed the door. She said, "You're home."

_A/N: One more chapter to end this short story-we will take a break to revisit ideas, perhaps write another in our "A Few Days" series-many of you are wonderful to read our stories and review and we do appreciate your encouragement! Thanks so much! We are approaching a cross-roads in writing fanfiction...not sure where it will take us. So enjoy! Review! _


	6. Chapter 6

Love and Logic Chapter 6

Their attempts to slow time did not work. Dawn came each morning, the sunsets were beautiful, and two weeks passed entirely too fast. Actually, it was only ten days of uninterrupted time because Sara would pack her small bag and leave Paris so she would have twenty-four hours to rest and recover from travel and set her waking hours to a grave shift clock.

Sara had finished packing food into a backpack when she heard a key in the door. Grissom stepped inside, grinned, and put his arms around her. He hugged her tightly—he always did this, but more so when her departure loomed near.

He hefted the backpack and said: "What have you got in here, the kitchen sink?"

"Food." She had shopped quickly, buying fresh rolls, tomatoes, a jar of potato salad, two kinds of cheeses, a bottle of wine, another bottle of water, and a container of early spring berries. She combed her fingers through his hair. She thought how relaxed he was these days. He even talked differently. White was appearing in his hair which she liked—it brightened his face, and he laughed a lot.

"You get more good-looking every day," she said.

He grunted, "Wait until my teeth fall out and my knees go."

Outside, the sky had clouded and darkened. The first rain fell before they reached the corner of the block—huge raindrops that soaked through their shirts. For a few minutes, they stood under a canopy of a shop as the storm strengthened and gutters filled. More people crowded under the shelter.

"Let's go back," he said.

Sara hesitated, then dashed onto the sidewalk, dragging him with her as they ran back to the apartment building. When they reached the foyer, they were soaked, hair plastered to heads like a mop coming out of a bucket. They laughed until they shivered before running up the stairs. The torrential rain continued and Sara adjusted windows and shutters to get maximum air without water.

"Our picnic will have to be inside, dear," Grissom suggested as he pulled food from the sodden backpack, surprised that everything was dry inside.

Wet clothes were hung to dry, and replaced with light weight cotton ones. Sara tossed their picnic cloth across the bed. "We don't have to eat at the table! We can picnic in bed!"

Grissom handed her a glass of wine and turned on music. He loved music and suddenly remembered a time when it had gone out of his life. Now, with rain cooled air coming in through the open windows, he wanted to hear clear, delightful notes and harmonies. Sara watched him from the bed as he made his selection and adjusted volume. The first few notes sounded with Beethoven's characteristic simplicity before a rolling orchestra filled the small apartment.

He joined Sara on the bed, lying next to her, food forgotten for now.

She said, "Gil, I love you with all my heart."

Their picnic forgotten, the kitten and dog sleeping in their second favorite places, the lovers whispered, quietly laughed, saying nonsense words easily forgetting the world around them.

"I like your ears," she said.

A slight tremor shook his body as her fingertip traced the edge of his ear, followed by her tongue before she caught his earlobe between her teeth.

She moved on to his face, giggled and said, "I love your nose."

His nose twitched as her lips touched its tip.

"Kiss me again," she said. He did.

Kiss me. Touch me. Stroke me. Caress me. Explore me. Words and actions given and followed until he said, "You are so soft inside—can you imagine?"

He felt her quiet laugh before he heard it. "And you are so hard, Gilbert…but it is doing me no good bouncing around between my legs!"

"Are you sure?" His hand moved and he guided his erection into the welcoming opening, sighing heavily as he entered her. She gasped and he made a sound that echoed into her ear. Then there was only breathing until he made a noise, a muffled shout smothered by her kisses. She, too, felt it, and turned her face into his neck as she climaxed, tightened against him; her muscles contracted over and over as he did the same. Her breathing stopped for a long minute before she went limp and lay with eyes closed, perspiring, until her breathing returned to normal.

He had literally emptied himself into her—drawing fluids from every mucus membrane, evaporating sweat from his chest as he blasted seminal fluid into her uterus. Grissom laughed after his breathing slowed. "God, Sara, I miss you when you're gone. We can't continue like this." He kissed her as if to seal some unspoken pact.

Sara's immediate world made her so content, so happy and satisfied, that she could not think about being apart from this man. She burrowed her head against his shoulder and breathed his scent. More than anything she wanted to stay with him—yet a decision made and agreed to weeks ago would pull her back to Vegas.

"Yes, we can, for a while—until May. Then you're coming home—we will be together—wherever that is." She snuggled closer, hunger forgotten in the aftermath of several powerful orgasms. Her eyes closed; food would wait until later. They remained connected as they slept.

While they dosed, activity continued, unseen, unnoticed, outside of the Paris apartment, people walked dogs, purchased bread, talked on street corners, all usual and common place events. Parks filled with parents and children, loving pairs and arguing couples; a wedding was attended by friends, and a divorce was settled by two. In the world, the Iceland volcano slowed its ash flow and skies cleared over much of Europe; an oil rig exploded and burned in the Gulf of Mexico barely causing a headline in Paris.

Inside the apartment, there was another kind of activity quietly taking place. Neither knew—it would be two weeks before Sara realized she had missed something—but the force of Grissom's climactic explosion sent sperm swimming into places that were wet and warm and favorable for what they were made to do—attach, fuse, and burrow through an outer jelly-like coating. The topography of reproduction that had challenged and eluded them for months had been cultivated to fertility, and neither knew it happened. And, as often happens in older women, this activity happened not once, but twice, but it would be more weeks before anyone knew that.

_Epilogue, months later:_

Sara lay on her side, papers she read held in front of her face, another stack beside her in bed. She kept a pillow between her knees for comfort and a tray filled with snacks on the bed to make it easier to eat. She had never paid attention to pregnant women and even less attention to small humans called babies. In a few weeks she would have two, a boy and a girl, a secret she had managed to keep from everyone but her husband.

She marked two items on the report she read; officially, she was on leave, but to help Nick, she read all his case reports as a final reviewer. Between these case files and Grissom's work at the university, she had an outlet to the world beyond this bedroom. She sighed and stretched her hand over her belly—she had never realized how much one's abdomen could enlarge until it came to pregnancy. It marveled her and Grissom to watch this process.

The man in her thoughts appeared in the doorway. "You okay, honey?" He was toweling his hair dry. "Need anything?"

Raising her arm, she waved, "Fine!"

He was back in a few minutes, dressed for work, pretending he was not in a hurry, that he had plenty of time. "I can stay if you want."

Sara lifted her head to kiss him. "We'll need you in a few weeks—go! I'm fine—phone, television, food, Hank, Heather—all I need."

The worried look on his face did not disappear. This pregnancy experience had been one of surprise, discovery, anxiety, and fear on his part. Sara had taken everything calmly, even when she had learned of two babies, while his reaction had been to faint in the doctor's office—an event she would never let him forget.

Grissom sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his hands before Sara reached to cover them with her own.

"Gil, we're fine. Everything will be fine." She placed his hand on her belly. "I think that's little Bee who keeps kicking my rib!"

He grinned. Their babies were Bug and Bee—nicknames she had printed on a sonogram photo months ago.

"Call me if anything happens—if you need anything. I can be home in fifteen minutes."

"Okay, promise."

After Grissom left, Sara put folders aside and closed her eyes. The Sorbonne has asked him to stay for another semester but he had said "no, I need to be home" and home was with Sara. He knew it was the right thing to do and now he had received a grant—applied for months ago—for work he could do at the university. She smiled and scrunched her pillow again. A weight on the bed let her dog Hank had joined her for a nap. She breathed slowly and deeply and smiled at her life.

_The Conclusion of another short story by Sarapals, AKA Amelia, Mimi and Yvette_

_Reviews appreciated!_


End file.
